Sweet Persuasions

“What is chasing?” he asked.

“It is a surface decoration drawn on the piece and then the decorator hammers it with a blunt, ballpoint chisel to distort the surface to achieve the desired effect without removing any metal.”

“Amazing,” Xavier said in a quiet voice. He set the teapot on the table, and picked up a coffeepot.

“That one is a silver Hallmark English coffeepot. It was made around 1767.”

“I’ll take the coffeepot, the teapot and the matching service pieces.”

Charlotte nodded, staring at the length of lashes touching the top of Xavier Eaton’s cheekbones. “What about the crystal?” She was hoping to sell him most of the silver and the crystal.

Reaching into a back pocket of his slacks, he took out a credit card. “I’m not sure what crystal pattern my sister would like, so I’m going to pass on it. But I know for certain that she’s partial to silver.”

“You’ve selected some very fine pieces.” A slight frown appeared on Charlotte’s face. “Didn’t you tell me you’re a history teacher?”

“Yes.” Xavier had had a lengthy conversation with her when he’d first visited her shop. She was aware that he’d graduated from The Citadel, and that he’d returned to Charleston to teach part-time at a military school. A smile parted her lips, the gesture reminding him of a Cheshire cat.

“I have something I believe would be of interest to you.”

His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Charlotte said in singsong voice.

His curiosity piqued, Xavier watched as the antiques dealer put on a pair of white-cotton gloves and placed a leather pouch on the table. She took out a tattered clothbound journal and then another that was equally worn. “These are the journals written by a freeman of color who fought with the Union army in the War Between the States.”

He wanted to correct Mrs. Burke by telling her that the official term was the Civil War, but knew that the Confederate loss was a sore point with most Southerners. She opened the journal, turning the pages as if she were handling a newborn. Some of the entries were written in pencil and others in ink. Incredibly, most of the writing was legible.

Xavier leaned over the table. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get these?”

Charlotte gave him a sidelong glance. “I found them.”

“You just happened to find journals that are more than one hundred fifty years old?”

A flush suffused the woman’s face. “I really didn’t find them. But, I promised the woman who gave them to me that I wouldn’t divulge her name. She was cleaning out her house and she found them in a trunk in her attic. The trunk belonged to the great-grandmother of a woman who used to clean her grandmother’s house.”

Xavier tried to process what he’d just been told. “Why did she give them to you rather than a museum or historical society?”

Charlotte’s flush deepened. “She said the memories were too painful and she just wanted them out of her house.”

Realization dawned for him. Journals, if authenticated, that could be worth five or six figures at auction were given away like a bundle of old newspapers. “How much do you want for them?”

“I can’t sell them.”

A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up Xavier’s back. “If you don’t intend to sell them, then why show them to me?”

“That’s because I want to give them to you.”

He went completely still. “Do you have any idea what these are worth?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, and I don’t want to know. You teach history, Mr. Eaton, so I know you will make certain they will find a good home.”

Xavier leaned forward. “You trust me not to sell them?”

“I’ve lived long enough to believe I’m a good judge of character. And I know you won’t sell them because you’d want to share what’s in these journals not only with your students but anyone interested in our country’s history.”

Charlotte Burke was right. He wouldn’t sell the journals because he wasn’t the rightful owner. Perhaps if he’d inherited or purchased them, then Xavier would possibly consider donating them to the South Carolina Historical Society. He planned to read the entries and then verify the accuracy of the events. After having them appraised, he would look for the rightful owner or owners. It was only fair that the descendants of a man who’d chronicled a war in which brothers took up arms against one another should be aware of what he’d had to sacrifice.

“You’re going to donate them, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked.

Xavier smiled. “I will—but only if I can’t find the rightful owners. That shouldn’t be too difficult if they’re still living in South Carolina.”

“What if they’ve moved out of the state?”

“It will make the search a bit more difficult, but not impossible. Did the lady tell you how long it had been since the woman cleaned her grandmother’s house?”

Charlotte slipped the books into the leather case and removed her gloves. “No. I would’ve asked, but she appeared very upset. You would’ve thought she’d found a live snake in her house instead of century-old books.”

What, Xavier mused, was her connection to the man who’d written of his wartime exploits? It had been a while since something had fired his imagination, and he was looking forward to what was certain to become a research project.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to hold on to the journals until I come back. I have some more shopping to do. Meanwhile I’ll pay you for the silver.”

“But, we haven’t negotiated a price, Mr. Eaton.”

Xavier waved his hand in dismissal. “I don’t like haggling. Please let me know how much I owe you.”

Charlotte took umbrage to the term haggling, but dismissed it with a slight lifting of her shoulders. Haggling was for peddlers, not a professional antiques dealer such as herself. Xavier’s willingness to meet whatever price she’d quote spoke volumes. He was a man willing to pay for whatever he wanted. She completed the transaction, processing his credit card and returning it to him. “My assistant will be in within the hour and, if you want, she can gift wrap them for you.”

Xavier smiled and deep lines appeared along his lean jaw. “I would really appreciate that.” And for the second time that day, he’d filled out a gift card to his sister. Six years older than Denise, he had always assumed the role of her protector. He’d put the word out in their neighborhood that if anyone bothered Denise Amaris Eaton, then they’d have to deal with him. Of course, he hadn’t had to deal with bullying or fighting, since it wasn’t tolerated in military school. Anyone who broke the rules was dealt with immediately. Three infractions in a school year meant permanent expulsion.

Xavier left the shop, skirting a couple standing in front of a shoe store, and headed for a specialty shop featuring tailored menswear. His day off had come with surprises. He’d discovered Sweet Persuasions and he had come into possession of a valuable piece of Civil War history.

Chapter 2

Selena adjusted the thermostat on the air-conditioning unit in the bedroom, sank down into a rocking chair, kicked off her shoes, propped her feet on a footstool and closed her eyes. She never realized how tired she really was until she sat down at the end of the day. Once she’d made the decision to open up the shop, it wasn’t the decisions about which pastries she should make for her customers that had caused her so many sleepless nights. But it was the days and hours of running the business and the worries about money that were so exhausting.

Originally she’d considered staying open six days a week, but that would have left her little or no time to herself. In the end she decided to remain open Tuesday through Friday 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. She closed at four on Saturdays to keep her standing appointment to get her hair and nails done. Sundays were relegated to cleaning her apartment, doing laundry and attending church services. Mondays were set aside for banking and baking.

Selena opened her eyes, and stared at the bedroom furnishings she’d chosen as meticulously as she decorated the cookies and truffles displayed in Sweet Persuasions’ showcase. As a girl she had always wanted to become an interior decorator, but that dream changed when she was bitten by the acting bug. Performing on stage and in front of cameras became her passion. But her world was shattered when she had to give up her acting career after her life was threatened.

It wasn’t often Selena thought about what she’d sacrificed to start over, but retreating to the two-bedroom apartment above the shop that had become her sanctuary made it all worthwhile. Cloistered in her bedroom, she was able to relax and sleep in comfort and in peace.

The sound of the telephone ringing interrupted her musings. She picked up the cordless receiver without looking at the caller ID display—something she wouldn’t have done when she lived in California.

“Hello.”

“Hey, you.”

Selena smiled upon hearing her sister-in-law’s greeting. “Hey, Christy. How are you?”